Reaper's Girl (Rockin' Country #5)

by Laramie Briscoe

  Dear God, her husband was hot. She’d never seen a concert of his like this before, and wondered why she’d never made the time as she watched him run over, and jump on the riser beside Jared. The crowd screamed their approval and he nodded, running his hand over his bald head, before he opened his mouth and let forth the sexiest growl she’d ever heard in her life.

  “Dad!” EJ screamed, waving from where she held him tightly.

  She grinned, knowing Garrett couldn’t see him, but it made her happy just the same. Pushing her hair back from her face, she sighed deeply as she watched Reaper run around on stage.

  He’d started shaving his head over the summer when it’d gotten too hot for hair, and while it had taken a while to grow on her, just like his long hair had, she now loved it. With his strong jawline, dimples, and the five o’clock shadow he perpetually sported now, it made him look manlier if that was even possible.

  “C’mon Atlanta!” he yelled, holding them in the palm of his hand. She listened as he sang the first part of the lyrics and then held the mic to the crowd, grinning when both she and EJ sung the words.

  Her eyes followed him as he bent down on the riser to be closer to the kids in front. She knew from experience the move sometimes hurt his knees. Regardless of how hot he was, he was on the other side of thirty and she constantly reminded him people would understand if he didn’t move like he was twenty anymore. But he couldn’t help it, the adrenaline coursed through his body from opening to end, and then sometimes even afterwards. Sometimes….when they made sure the boys were tucked into their beds….she became his groupie all over again. Something, Hannah would definitely enjoy doing tonight. She breathed loudly as he took his jacket off.

  Good God, he shouldn’t look this hot, she told herself. After almost eight years together, she shouldn’t want him this much. That was what she told herself every day, but it was the truth she still wanted him just as bad today as she had when they first met.

  The music stopped and Garrett grabbed a mic stand. “How’re you doing tonight Atlanta?” He asked, waiting for them to answer back before he kept speaking.

  She could see sweat rolling off his body, on the screen that backed up the band. The coloring caused his tattoos to stand out, and the stubble was visible to every eye in the arena. She wanted to lean over and thank the video guy for keeping the camera on the hotness who’d given her a different last name.

  “Thank you for coming out on this Wednesday night to the rock show. How many of you are calling into work tomorrow?”

  Hannah giggled as she saw almost every hand go up in the arena.

  “I would too, no shit,” he laughed. “I’d be like fuck this, I’m too hungover.”

  The crowd roared with enthusiasm.

  “Mom,” EJ yelled at her, his eyes wide. “Dad’s cussin’ again.”

  “I know,” she cringed. “But you remember what we said about him being on stage? It’s an act. These people expect him to say these things.”

  “But at home he has to put money in the curse jar?” her son questioned.

  At least while you and your brother are awake. “Right,” she hugged his little body tightly to her.

  “I’m looking out over this crowd and I see some young kids in the pit,” Reaper walked closer to the people, lifting his sunglasses up slightly. “How old are you?” he pointed to a kid on a man’s shoulders. “Seven?” he questioned as they spoke back and forth. “Dad you’re doin’ a fuckin’ good job. We’ve got to introduce these kids young. My son’s out in the audience with my gorgeous wife tonight. Normally I’d bring her on stage to sing a little later, but she’s on mommy duty,” he pointed to the back where they stood.

  The spotlight came on them, and she told EJ to wave. The crowd was deafening as they caught a glimpse of the child everyone who knew him called Little Reaper.

  “This is the first time my son’s watched from the audience, so I’m gonna hope we give him a good time, and since this is when I’d normally bring Harmony up to sing with me, we’re gonna do something a little different. You know I have two boys, but EJ, my oldest is the one who’s really into music. He loves our old stuff, like I’m talking first album old stuff, and he always asks that I play this next song for him. We’d never, ever done this song live before, but I want to make this night a memorable for me as I hope it is for him.”

  He rattled off the name of a seriously deep cut from their first album and EJ started screaming, jumping up and down as Hannah held onto him tightly. “Your dad’s doing that for you,” she kissed him on the cheek.

  “So this one goes out to my mini-me, love you buddy.”

  Hannah knew without a doubt that tonight, if her husband wanted a groupie, then a groupie was what she’d be. Nothing made her fall in love with him more, than seeing him be a good dad and an even hotter entertainer. She truly was the luckiest woman in the world because she’d always be Reaper’s Girl.

  Connect with Laramie

  Website:

  www.laramiebriscoe.net

  Facebook:

  facebook.com/AuthorLaramieBriscoe

  Twitter:

  twitter.com/LaramieBriscoe

  Pinterest:

  pinterest.com/laramiebriscoe

  Instagram:

  instagram.com/laramie_briscoe

  Substance B:

  substance-b.com/LaramieBriscoe.html

  Mailing List:

  http://eepurl.com/Fi4N9

  Email:

  Laramie@laramiebriscoe.com

  Sneak Peek of Trick

  Releasing January 13, 2017

  Chapter One

  Hadley

  “You’re his last hope.”

  Rebecca, the director of The Companion Program lays it on thick, and I’m doing my best to be open-minded, but what she’s told me is has me doubting my decisions. “He’s a felon?” I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand, hoping to relieve some of the pressure that’s built behind my eyes. This is a big decision.

  “He’s been a felon before,” she clarifies. “This charge has escalated because of his past, but I assure you – he is a changed man.”

  Am I crazy for even considering this? On one hand, I think so, on the other, I try to see the best in everyone and I know it’s possible to change. Look at what I’ve done for myself in the past two years. Who am I to judge? “What did he do?”

  “It’s a vandalism charge. That’s all I’m allowed to say, but if he can’t be matched with a child to perform his community service hours, he’s going to go to jail. The time in jail will be exacerbated by his previous charges, and he’s trying to build a business, trying to re-build a life. I’ve gotten to know him,” the older woman gives me a sympathetic smile. “He’s not a bad man. Put himself in bad situations and reacted badly? Sure. But bottom line is if she was my child, I’d trust him with her.”

  I look over at my daughter, Riley, and wonder if I’m doing the right thing. In my heart I know I am. She’s been devastated; we’ve been devastated since my husband walked out on us. He left what I thought was a good and solid marriage to move in with a woman who didn’t care he had a child. Children aren’t her thing. That’s left Riles without the guidance of a male figure and she’s been withdrawn since the separation began. It only got worse as the divorce dragged on. When it was final, we were appointed a court counselor, and the counselor suggested I contact The Companion Care program which leads me to where I am now.

  “You swear you’d trust your child with him?”

  “I would,” she tells me, reaching out to grip my hand. The contact is enough to startle me. For the months leading up to the separation, my husband and I never touched, and since then it’s been me and her. It’s foreign to feel someone else’s skin against mine now. Regardless of their gender or age. When you aren’t touched for long periods of time, it’s a shock to the system when it’s being reintroduced.

  “Can I be there? I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, and I’d like to know who he is myself
. She and I have been a team for a while now, and I’d like for us to do this together.”

  She balks for the first time and it gives me pause. I wonder why she’s giving me a look of warning. What’s she hiding?

  “I’ll allow it, but I’m going to be honest with you,” she stops and sighs. “Patrick Tennyson is a gorgeous man. If I wasn’t happily married for the past twenty-five years, I would make a pass at him – age difference be damned.”

  I laugh despite myself.

  “The other two kids we’ve paired him with have been a problem because their mothers have made it difficult for Patrick.”

  Oh, I understand now. I hold my hands up. “That won’t be a problem with me. I’m a single mom who works a full-time job, goes home does a part-time job, and takes care of her child. I’m not looking for a relationship now, or five years from now. I’m just trying to live my life and put food on our table.” As God as my witness those words are true. I’m still trying to get over the anger, despair, and grief I feel having lost my eight-year marriage. That’s not to say I’m not open to something happening for me in the future, but I’ll never chase it.

  “Okay Hadley, we’ll set up the meeting, and we’ll expect good results.”

  I stand, holding out my hand to the director. I can feel hope and optimism for the first time since my ex-husband left. Maybe this man can help me reach Riley, maybe he can help her understand not all mean leave, and maybe if she believes then so can I.

  * * *

  Trick

  “How is this one going to be different than the rest?”

  I kick my long legs out in front of me, trying not to make too much noise as the steel-toes of my boots meet the metal of the desk in front of me. Regardless of what other people think about me, I would prefer to blend into the background. I don’t really want to make a spectacle of myself. I’ve been told the way I carry myself doesn’t allow me to blend into the background, but I am who I am and I refuse to let people screw me around.

  Matthew, my probation officer, God bless his soul is flipping through some paperwork. “They swear this woman isn’t interested in finding a man, and apparently the little girl needs someone who can help her. The name’s Riley.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” I lean forward, keeping my arms tucked tightly across my chest, hands in my armpits. As a kid, I had a bad habit of talking with my hands. My dad didn’t like it, so I learned to keep them close to my body.

  He’s going over the info sheet. “Looks like the dad slash husband walked out on them, and he isn’t interested in being a father to Riley anymore. She’s withdrawn and the mother is worried. Hadley, the mother has requested she be there for at least the first few sessions.”

  Any mother who gave a damn about her kid would, but that makes me nervous. “I can’t fault her for wanting to be there, but damn what if she turns into another one? I can’t go to jail, the fucking shop is booked solid for the next three months. I’ve finally got all my shit figured out.”

  “I know, and don’t think I’m not sympathetic to your plight, Patrick.”

  “Oh kiss my ass, you know I hate when people call me by my given name.”

  Matthew glares. “There does need to be some semblance of professionalism here, no matter how much I like you and feel as if you’re doing great things.”

  Fuck me, I roll my neck, already feeling a tension headache starting to form. I’ve already wasted too much time today. “Just set it up and let me know what time I need to be there.”

  It’s time to pay my debt to society. To try and right the wrongs I caused as an angry young adult who had nobody to shape me into the man I have become. The vandalism charge? That’s bullshit and another story for another day. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my well-worn jeans. Shit it’s already two pm. I’m gonna be at the shop late tonight.

  “Tomorrow, nine am. They want to get this show on the road, and the quicker you start, the quicker your hours will accumulate.”

  Whatever. “See ya in two weeks,” I tell him, referencing my next parole check in.

  I have work to do, and it looks like I have a little girl to meet tomorrow. As I step out into the bright sunshine, I put on my aviators and hope like hell traffic isn’t bad as I make my way back across the bridge to my side of town. The side where I’m comfortable – where people have rough edges and good hearts. My edges have sometimes been razor sharp and it’s time to dull them – anger and resentment has gotten me nowhere but serving almost a thousand hours of community service.

  Growing up sucks, especially when you realize all the bad shit you’ve done to yourself, to spite yourself. I’ve never shied away from taking responsibility and I’ll take this the way I have everything else, but damn if it’s not coming at the worst possible time for me personally.

  I start my bike and ease into afternoon traffic. Time to get to work.

  * * *

  A loud noise wakes me from a sleep so deep I’m pretty fucking sure I was dead. It’s this annoying beep – constant and getting louder by the second. I reach out, slapping my hand against my cell phone, but it keeps going off. Why did I set the alarm? I wrack my brain, trying to figure out why in the hell I had to get up so early today. I was in the shop until almost four in the morning, but I made sure to set my alarm. Why? The reason is right on the edge of my periphery of a memory but it’s not clicking.

  Suddenly I set up, knowing exactly where I should be today, what I should be doing. The sinking feeling is already taking up residence in my stomach.

  “Son of a fucking bitch,” I grab the phone, squinting to see what time it is. Eight fifty-five. “Shit!”

  It’s inevitable I’m going to be late as hell for my first day. What a way to make a good impression. Quickly I put on the nearest clothes, a jacket, run my hand through my short hair, and head out. Effort counts right? Because I’m about to put forth the most effort I ever have. This shit has to work.

  Sneak Peek of Renegade

  Releasing March 9th, 2017

  Chapter One

  Whitney

  “Ryan, I’m tellin’ you, I need my hair pulled, I need a red handprint across my ass, I need someone paying attention to my nipples, a dick in my treasure cove. I need it all.”

  Drunk. I am drunk. Like way past the legal limit – otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here spilling all of my secrets to my baby brother’s best friend. The baby brother that had been totally unplanned by my parents. Ten years my junior, baby brother. He and Ryan are the same age; twenty-five to my thirty-five. Makes me feel so much older, just thinking about it. Not only by age, but by life experience too. And dear Lord, I think I sound like Julia Sugarbaker. I’m three sheets to the wind, and nobody stopped me.

  I see him try to suppress a grin as he brings his bottle of beer up to his lips, taking a nice long pull off of it. I am mesmerized by the way his throat muscles move when he swallows, pushing the liquid down his throat. No denying he’s a man. The palm of his hand completely covers the label on the bottle, the one drink he takes, almost drains half the bottle. For a second he focuses on my face, squinting as he watches me. “How many of those have you had to drink?” He points the neck of his bottle to the wine glass in my hand.

  His voice is as smooth as the wine I swirl in my glass. I tilt my head to the side, realizing that the whole room tilts too. Counting back, I try to think how many I had before he took the seat next to mine, and I can’t remember. “Five or six?” I ask him, like he should know.

  “You think maybe it’s time you quit for the night?” He gently tries to take what I have left away from me.

  His fingers are soft as they try to pry my fingers from around the stem, but I resist his attempts, and pull it closer to my body. I’m like a two-year-old with her blankie. This glass of wine is my security and nobody’s taking it away from me.

  “Quit?” I ask, and run my tongue over my dry lips, trying to make them so that they can speak easier. “Quitting is not something I do. That’s what my
ex-husband did. My mama did. That’s what my former boss did,” I shake my head, and try to stand up on four-inch stilettos. He reaches out and grabs my elbow, steadying me, being a rock when I haven’t had one in a very long time. “Whitney Trumbolt is not a fuckin’ quitter.”

  I can see Ryan try again to keep the smile from his face. The corners of his lips twitch, and it pisses me off. Not because I’m mad, but because he thinks it’s funny. He thinks this is a joke, and it’s my life. The life I’ve been trying so desperately to get out from under or save. I’m not sure which yet. All I know is I haven’t been living.

  “You think this is funny?” I take another drink from my wine glass. It’s a big one this time, I drain it down.

  “No, Whit, I think you’re having a bad night.” His tone is one someone would use with a kindergartner, talking them down from a temper tantrum. It pisses me off too.

  A bad night? Try a bad decade. If I could do anything, it would go back to the night I turned twenty-five, and be the age that Ryan is again. I would do so many things different, I would change so much about the choices that I made back then. “You know nothing about me, other than the fact that I’m Tank’s sister.”

  He grabs me by the wrist, locking his fingers around the skin and bone. I never realized until this moment how much bigger he is than me. Never really paid any kind of attention to it – oh I’ve paid attention to him off and on through-out the years, but never like this.

  Ryan “Renegade” Kepler rises to his full height, towering over me as I do my best to keep my footing and ignore the way my skin tingles where he is gripping my wrist. He leans in close – so close I can feel his breath on my skin.

  “I know a lot of things about you that you don’t think I know.”